Honour and Heresy
by Flank7
Summary: Amidst the destruction of a regiment how will one man survive and will a marine fight with honour no matter the cost.. 2 new chpts up
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

'You are heretic, Astartes.'

The inquisitor tilted his head as he leered down at the huge framed man before him. The single halo lamp above him cast his drawn features into a pale ghostly vision. His ageing hair was drawn back into a knot and lit up like chain mail. He played idly with his index finger and readjusted one of many jewelled rings that adorned his hands. He turned and began to circle the former marine, who sat in the centre of the gloomy cell. The long gold gilded robes of the office of the Ordos swaying with the motion.

'I need not your answers, for your actions display your guilt. You are damned by the Emperor, but I can yet spare your suffering.' He paused behind the metal restraining chair. 'Which, considering your ...advantages of physiognomy shall we say, would be quite exceptional'

Sweat trickled down the marine's torso. Mixing with streaks of blood, it pooled on the seat of the heavy metal chair before running to the floor to quickly congeal. The marine breathed deeply, his head bowed forward as his shoulders rose and fell with each breath. The action increased in speed and soon they rocked with suppressed laughter. He lifted his shaved head and showed the Inquisitor his defiant smile. Despite the bruises around his face, his eyes were wide and lit up an emerald green.

The inquisitor swung his staff and smashed it across the marine's face. The inquisitorial insignia at its head carved a deep gash into his left cheek. The wound sprayed blood and then began to close instantly.

'That is what you think of mercy?!' the Inquisitor raged. 'Your soul is tainted and your corruption evident. Your dark gods offer you nothing, Astartes! Your death will earn you nothing.'

The marine glowered back at the man with contempt. This place, this man, both represented all that he hated. There would be no reasoning and in his many years he was yet to hear of Inquisitorial mercy. For all that he had fought for he now felt empty. All the blood spilt just to be imprisoned and tortured by this vile excuse of a servant of the holy Emperor. A week he had been here. Besides the beating and physical pain, the inquisitor had tested the marine's mind with his will, but the warrior had resisted and blocked the searches for answers. Answers to questions they didn't even know to ask yet. They would need someone with greater skill and powers in order to pry open his consciousness. They had not even begun to push him to his limits of tolerance. Not that it mattered, for they would and every one breaks eventually.

'Heresy?' he yelled suddenly. The sound broke the still air like a mortar landing.

The inquisitor remained unmoved, merely pausing in his stride. The two guards that stood either side of the thick bolted door flinched noticeably and began to bring their shortened las-guns up. They regained some composure and resumed their position after a wary glance to each other. Both flicked off the safety.

It was the first word to pass his lips since he'd been dragged unconscious into the dank chamber and the interrogation had begun. Silence was expected of him. So far he'd gone along with that, enduring the escalating punishments. Thoughts had prayed upon his mind however. Others needed him still and they needed more than just his silence. Somehow he would have to find them again. However his captors had him contained. To stand a chance he would have to be moved and that meant engaging with elaborately dressed bastard strutting around him.

'You see any marks of Chaos upon me? I shall not justify myself to one so blind.'

'Justify?' the Inquisitor smirked. 'I am no Arbites, here to crawl through procedure and dispense petty justice.'

He moved round before the prisoner and bent down to the giant man's eye level. The marine's thick arms tensed and strained at the shackles. His wrists and ankles twisted in their clamps causing the reddened skin to tear some more. The guardsmen at the door turned their guns on him. Their fingers caressed the trigger guard.

'It is you who are blind, traitor. Blind to the Emperor's light. From the day you turned form his righteousness, you are damned. You know of the day I speak.'

'I do. I served the Emperor that day and ever since, and shall do until my death. Look to yourself Inquisitor; that is where you will find your prey.' The marine rasped through clenched teeth.

The inquisitors smile broadened and his eyes narrowed. He leant in closer and dropped his voice to barely a whisper.

'Believe what you will, for you will die. But knows this; you have damned your battle brothers by having them follow you. Your Chapter has been deemed Heretitcus. All will be destroyed, and on your head be it… Brother.'

Anger fuelled the Astartes' lungs and he unleashed a roar that only an Emperor's chosen warrior could muster.

X X X

_**Hi all, never done a fan fic before so interested in all reviews especially from the regulars. I'm not an active hobbyist so please forgive any fluff errors and put me right. Cheers.**_

_**Disclamer - I do not own anything Games Workshop related.**_


	2. 1: Destruction

**Chpt 1**

The air was hot and thick with dust. A metallic tang filled his mouth as the fine debris cloyed inside. He rolled his tongue and spat what little saliva was there. It splattered red onto the rockcrete floor. He slowly turned over and numbly looked himself over. No wounds he could see. His groin was sodden wet, but didn't seem to be red. He drunkenly swayed his head from side to side, his blurred eyes orientating themselves. They stung badly and he could feel grit as he blinked. Shiny brass shells covered virtually the whole floor. Discarded las power packs lay strewn about. Crates and craggy debris pieces came into focus. Raising his head the grey walls of the bunker extended upwards, the smoke wafting in though the blackened firing slit. The pintle mounted heavy stubber hung awkwardly to its side, smoke still whisping from its barrel. _Missile_, he thought, the single word encapsulating all of what had just happened. Scrambling he brought himself to his knees. Casings rolled and clinked around the bunker floor. As he instinctively reached for the worn las gun in front of him, a bloody-faced figure stooped in front of him. Through the grime he recognised the all too familiar features of Sergeant Brazowski.

'Logrun! You hurt?', Brazowski shouted. The words came faintly as it from another room.

'Nn..', he choked and tried again, 'I think I pissed myself...'

'Get on the stub! Get the hell up! Get up!'

The sergeant's light blue eyes burned with anger. Logrun stared for a second and then the world snapped back into reality. Sound filled his head. Rocking explosions, hammering stubber and bolter fire, overlaid with constant zipping of las fire poured in from outside. The sergeant's shouts and screams of pain from somewhere near also.

'On it.' he blurted.

The sergeant hauled him up and shoved him towards the stubber. Logrun's mind was still recoiling from the explosion. The memory flashed quickly, the white streak heading for him, a yell of '_Incoming_'. He stumbled forward, kicking spent ammunition everywhere. He hit the front wall and sagged against it, his knees not responding fully yet. The fat heavy weapon hung beside him and he heaved it back into position. _Where's Parnov_, he thought_. Parnov's the primary gunner_. He racked the gun and shifted his weight onto the massive stock. For the first time since the white streak had erupted and he'd found himself coughing blood onto the bunker floor, Logrun looked out at the raging battlefield. It could only have been thirty seconds since the missile, but he looked upon the destruction as if it were the first time and it filled him with terror.

Ruined and burning buildings stood stranded in fields of craters and blazing trenches. Bursts of earth spat skywards as artillery bombardment rained down a wall of metal. Bright lances of red and yellow las fire latticed across. Snaking tracer fire streaked elegantly into earth and stone before cannoning off at random. Seemly thousands of muzzle flashes winked at him. Plumes of black smoke bloomed upwards.

Heretics lay heaped before him. Their manic charge had been beaten back, heedless of the cost. The burned corpses were scarred with marks and wounds of their masters. Hundreds were strewn across his view. Although clearly dead, all shot down or blown to smithereens, it seemed that yet they were still living. Logrun stared and each one stared back. Every head turned unrepentantly, unblinkingly and soullessly staring at him.

Dark carapace forms lurked about in the distance. Abominable things, creatures beyond his understanding, rode on the whipping winds.

The horizon melted black as the battle met the sky. A sky that was burdened with oppressing iron red clouds, stoked forwards by the heat of flames. Overhead spits of rain had started. Each droplet coloured the dark crimson of dying blood.

It was a vision of hell and Corporal Logrun fired at it.

The stubber shook furiously in his grip. He swung the thing left and right, firing at nothing in particular. The enemy was in front and that was all that mattered. The bunker filled with more acrid smoke and Logrun could feel the weapon's heat begin to prickle on his face. Pockets of heretic troops massed together and loped forward. He trained the gun on as many groups as possible. The heavy rounds ploughing into flesh and bursting apart. On they came though.

That was when the voices started. Like a begging on the wind, subtle sounds drifted into his mind. He lifted his finger from the trigger and squeezed his eyes shut. Emotions of hate, temptation and lust welled up from within him. The sounds made no sense, but they were words which caressed the back of his mind. He pressed a hand to the wall to steady himself. Nausea overcame him and he wretched bile up.

The vox came alive. 'Company come in! Something's wrong… I can't…..what the…..oh God-Empe..' The crump of a frag grenade going off killed the voice.

Up and down the fortified line screams and yells echoed. More dull thuds went off. Logun looked up, his head swirling. He looked left out of the bunker at the next in the line. A guardsman he couldn't recognise was dragging himself out of the firing hole. Blood drenched one mangled leg. With a look of desperation on his face he was turned and was firing his las pistol frantically back into the bunker. The trooper's pistol ran short and he looked up and met Logrun's eye for the smallest of moments. He tossed the weapon and tried to pull himself up. He was taken apart by heretic fire and slumped into the bloody rain filled mud.

Logrun's heart boomed in his chest and fresh adrenaline rushed through his body. The shock of the soldier's death focused him and he pushed the squirming voices out. He resumed his position behind the stubber. He sent out three long volleys and saw more enemy fall.

'Sarge!' he turned his head, 'You hear that?'

His question was answered as he saw the Sergeant Brazowski hunched over the wounded figure of Parnov. Parnov had shrapnel wounds to his torso and face. Fresh field dressings had been newly applied and the stains were seeping through. His fatigues were shredded revealing his charred arms which reached up and clasped around the sergeant's face and throat. Parnov weakly fought at the larger man. Brazowski pressed his weight on the prostrate soldier and grinned and the resulting screams. He then reached around and drew the combat blade from his equipment belt.

'Sarge! What are you doing?' Logun screamed.

'I can hear them. They know the death I've seen' Brazowski replied flatly.

'Don't Sarge. It's Parnov…' he pleaded.

He felt torn as to what was happening. The heretics were closing and he loosed off short busts at them, trying to keep their heads down. Behind him the scuffling continued. He turned in time to see Brazowski trust the knife into Parnov's ribcage. The wounded guardsman stiffened and mouthed words before his arms fell from the sergeant and he went limp.

'Holy Emperor, what are you doing?' He stared wide eyed at the manic man.

'I…I don't know' Brazowski replied, 'There're images in my head.'

The sergeant span on his heels to face Logun. He dipped his head and peered out from under his murderous brow. He slowly raised the point of the blooded blade.

'I see you turning on me Corporal. You know the penalty for assaulting a superior officer?'

'I'm not! They're coming sarge. We gotta stop them. It's them, I heard it too. Don't listen.'

Logun left the heavy weapon and backed away to his right. From the corner of his vision he could see his battered las gun still on the floor mere feet away. Brazowski faltered and he swayed as his body and mind fought each other. The knife trembled in his hand.

'Run Logrun. Forgive me...' He murmured.

The sergeant stared at Logrun in horror and plunged the knife into his own abdomen, tearing a vicious gash. The glistening wound soaked his fatigues instantly. Logrun leapt for his las rifle and brought it to bear on his staggering comrade. He held it in his shaking arms at his hip. He flicked the safety off and his finger pressed upon the trigger. The darkness returned to Brazowski's eyes and the notion of pain seemed to leave his body.

'I knew you would betray me, you pathetic hiver!', his voice malevolent and deep.

He lunged towards Logrun, who fired instantly. The las gun flashed a yellow line straight through the attacking mans chest and scorched a hole in the bunker wall behind. The sergeant's body slammed to the floor at Logrun feet. The head twisted at an unnatural angle and the sergeant's blue eyes still bright stared at him, just as the heretic corpses outside.

X X X

There are moments when the courage of all men fails. A point where instinct and fear overcome the most disciplined man. Logrun stood alone in the bunker and felt it. Thoughts flashed through his mind. He couldn't fight the charge that was coming by himself. Something was reaching inside them all and spreading death within the ranks. He had never fled before and feared the commissars retribution for doing so. It seemed small in contrast to what was happening, but he knew that if he was caught he would be executed for not giving his life in the service of the Emperor. He thought of his comrades and how leaving them was against every fibre of his being. In the end the decision was not consciously his. He turned his back on the carnage and ran for his life.

His boots dug deep into the slippery brown mud of the support trench as he ran. He steadied himself with his free hand and cradled his las-gun in the other. The trench ran twenty metres before turning into the zigzagging maze back towards the city behind them. He made a silent prayer that the next section would be empty. He careered around the corner and crashed on down the long lateral trench. It was stacked with crates from the Munitroium. Rounds of every description spilled from the dozens of crates. Towards the end some autocannon crates smoked omniuously. Slumped against them were half a dozen bodies of guardsman. In his rush Logrun didn't stop to notice whether it had been enemy fire or not that had killed them. He passed a medic station that was littered with blooded bandages and fluid packs. The medics were no where to be seen. Logrun felt his heart pounding in his chest and his breath start to labour as he scrambled on. As he came to the end to the support line he stopped and leant back up against a wooden buttress of the trench wall. Gathering his breath he tried to look out over the network of lines, while making sure to keep head below the barricade above him. Further down the line he could see a dark coated figure topped with a black peaked cap, striding above the trenches. Logrun held his breath as if certain the commissar would see him. The officer continued to walk in full view off the enemy fire that whipped about him. Logrun was to far away to hear him, but could see him shouting at someone below him. As the slick great coat swirled around him the commissar raised the hellgun he possessed and fired two shots at whomever or whatever was below him.

There was no way to tell if the man was bold beyond belief and rallying the regiment with an awe-inspiring display of courage or lost in the insanity that had taken the sergeant. Either way Logrun wanted to keep his distance. He took a foot up from a box of shotgun shells and hauled himself over the lip. He instantly felt terrifyingly exposed without the sanctuary of the lines. The barrage of blitzing noise continued all around and indirect fire peppered the ground, spitting wads of earth at him. His body willed him to curl up and dig a hole in the ground, but he resisted. He crawled forward as fast as his elbows and knees would carry him. Rusty mud and filth covered his guard fatigues. He glanced nervously back over at the commissar, who still hadn't been cut down, but he was too occupied with his rage of defiance and violence to notice him. Perhaps the Emperor was watching after them after all. Logrun's fear slowly began to subside and was replaced by acceptance that he only had one course and that was to continue to find safety.

After a hundred paces, he dipped into some shell craters and got to his feet and sprinted from one to the other. The front line was behind him now, but he could hear detonations crunching the last of the pillar boxes. From somewhere in the distance he could hear the mighty Basilisk artillery's echoed booming. It was likely they had begun to shell their own lines to hold back the wave of cultists now Logrun's regiment was dead or broken.

Logun kept his feet moving and ran for a Chimera troop transport that idled on the road way that led back into the fortified ancient city of Trillipse. He ducked round the back only to find the APC abandoned. Chest heaving; he sucked down the chemical tasting air to refresh his burning leg muscles. He leant back against the rumbling machine and took in his suroundings. Steam rose from the engine compartment as the rain landed. Logrun wiped the sweat and grime from his face and let the heat soak back into him for a moment. He craned his head around the thick tracks of the vehicle to look back at the battle. Streams of men were fleeing like rats from a flooded sewer. Some fought between themselves and many shot each other down. More Chimera's and Leman Russ battle tanks were moving up as the commanders threw the reserves forward. The lines were overrun and it looked like a massacre. He couldn't see the enemy any more, but knew they would be carving their way forward and the regiment's feeble reserves would do nothing.

He ran for the city fast and hard, hoping fresh troops wouldn't come to this roadway. He reached the first building that was still standing and felt awash with relief at their shelter. He kept going with no direction in mind. Perhaps there would be a transport leaving he could get aboard. He was sure he'd heard ships over head, the heavy engines rattling the windows and shaking the gravel on the ground.

He wearily swayed round another corner onto a main avenue and immediately stopped. His feet lost their hold and he fell hard onto his back. His heart tightened and his eyes burst open in new shock. They numbly stared up at the towering figure in front of him.

Set in gleaming sapphire blue power armour the huge form of a Space Marine looked down at him. The resplendent armour was decorated with gilt and litanies that resembled a work of art more than war gear. Parchment oaths that were sealed with ruby red wax fluttered from his breast plate and armour shoulders. Flowing behind him was a heavy maroon cloak that gently lifted in the wind. The marine's eye pieces glowed rich ambient green behind a golden eagle-winged aquilla face plate. In his left hand rested a force axe which crackled with white light. His right arm was extended and held a huge bolter which was pointed directly at Logrun head.

Behind him stood several more marines in similarly impressive armour. To the centre was one in a much larger suit of hulking armour with two giant fists. Reaching high above him was a banner proudly displaying a fist holding a golden sword. This marine did not wear a helmet like the others, but his face was shadowed by a cowl. Writing and runes foreign to Logrun decorated his armour and a heavy bound book swung from a chain secured around his waist.

Logrun blinking in dumbfounded awe slowly realised many more weapons were trained on him. He was a deserter and this was it. He dared not make a move.

'There is no taint in this one, Brother Caesaron', spoke the giant cowled librarian. The words were deep and rich.

The marine looming over Logrun lowered his weapon and nodded in acknowledgement.

'You flee while others die, I should kill you for that. Yet you still carry your weapon so perhaps there is a soldier in you still.' Caesaron spoken through his helmet mounted vox speakers. 'Stand to attention before the Lord Librarian to whom you owe your life!'

The order sparked Logrun back to life and he gingerly stood up tall and straight, the las-gun by his side.

'Where is your unit Corporal?' Caesaron asked with urgency

'About three clicks back, sir.' Logrun responded immediately, unsure as how to talk to a Space Marine. 'The line is overrun. There were too many. Men were killing each other. I had to stop myself. There's something terrible out there. I…I can't explain.'

The squad of marines glanced at each other. There was a pause as they communicated on suit to suit vox comms. Logrun stood stiffly in silence uncertain as to what was to come next.

'Your mind must be strong, for only the weak of will fall easily to the words of Chaos. What do you know of your commanders?'

'Nothing. I saw the final tank reserves going in on the right and left flanks, but there's nothing to support here…' Logrun implored

'Are we not support enough, guardsman? The Enemy will come though here as surely as you have found us. They will break like waves against a rock. Now show us the way.'

Logrun baulked at the thought of returning to the hellish carnage he'd just escaped, but the warriors before him could not be refused. And so Corporal Logrun of the 134th Damasian Rifles led the command HQ and a full half of the Valorous Swords chapter to battle.

X X X


	3. Aftermath

The battle raged for a day and a half. The heretic force was crushed as it came upon the Space Marines. Devastator squads cut down the screaming troops in their hundreds, turned armour into twisted wrecks and fortified positions into flaming funeral pyres. Assault squads cleared the trenches with bloody efficiency and righteous zeal. Demons and winged monsters were cut down from the skies. For each marine that fell, giving his life for the Emperor, tens of warp creatures died. Far in the distance the profane masters turned and fled from the marine's onslaught. The warp was their sanctuary and they melted away. The moaning of the warp could be heard by Valorous Swords' psykers. The anger emanating out from it at the failure and the death cry of thousands. The great enemy had escaped and the librarians let their anger out with streaming bolts of crystal blue lightning that burnt the final enemy champions to blackened remains.

Finally the world fell silent. Save for the crackling of the dead burning in flamer crew's promethium.

Ceaseron unlocked his helmet and slowly took it off. The stench of the fight filled his nose as he sucked in the unfiltered air. He clipped the helmet to his belt and grimly looked down at the armoured body before him. It looked similar to him in so many ways. Yet if was not. Twisted faces peered out from the armour that was edged with horns. Flesh was pulled taught over some of the plates and a pendent of skulls hung round it's neck. Engraved and stained with blood were engrams and symbols of the dark gods. It still clutched the ancient bolter in it's hand and lightning claws of sickly brownish bone extended from the other. The head was missing, blown clean off.

'Traitors.' A gloved hand clapped him on the shoulder plate. He turned to see his friend Brother-Captain Ledua beside him.

'A fine shot' he added.

'It's good to see you still standing Brother. Today has been a hard victory. It is disturbing to see the traitor legions were involved here. Have we any idea on they're strength?' Ceasaron replied.

'Still know how to take a compliment then I see. No one has reported any other contact. Looks like the glory of the Emperor lies with just you. Chief Librarian Scorine is furious. Had we known the true extent of the enemy here we would not have let them escape. It seems something else was at work here. He's been summoned by an Inquisitor who just made planet fall. I don't care who you are, it's a brave man that does that!'

Cearsaron turned from the foul corpse. He gestured to the marine hefting a heavy flamer stood near by, who promptly stepped forward to destroy the chaos marines body. Ceasaron and Ledua shared a knowing glance. They had concerns that they both shared, but would not voice in front of the men of their companies. Instead they issued further clean up and re-grouping orders as they made the long march back to the drop site. Marine bodies would also need collecting so they could be interred on the Valorous Swords homeworld. Ceasaron sighed at the thought that the apothecaries had been busy this day. Many gene-seeds would be returned for implantation into a fresh neophyte. His company had lost nineteen marines, but each had died in the Emperor's service and the victory was theirs in death too. There was honour in this and in some way their spirit and valour would be passed on and live in the new marines.

'Too many were lost here. Again we follow behind the trail of the enemy, following the crumbs of influence, never striking first. We must do more.' Ceasaron said.

His sharp green eyes looked at his companion. Ledua bore the resemblance of a marine more than he did. Ledua's jaw was thick and his face flat and hard. His hair was also shaved close. Ceasaron had softer features which were lightened further by his blonde hair that began to shine as the sun broke through the darkened clouds.

'With each victory we bare closer Ceasaron. This world has not been lost. The guard reserves have held and should put down any further uprisings. Today is a great victory for the Imperium. New marine's have been blooded and our chapter only grows stronger.'

'Spoken like a true believer. Hoping to make chapter master soon are we?' Ceasaron said with a wry smile.

Ledua laughed in reply. Ceasaron's tone and wit was often lost on many of his comrades, but Ledua had known him longer than he had known any other man and took the jibe well.

'Better me than you. What do you think the traitor being here means?'

'I don't know. They weren't here in force and we're far from the Eye. This wasn't an incursion that needed their power. But the dark forces were at work. We brought down lesser demons here. That can only mean whoever is behind this had great power indeed. Perhaps the legionaries were here to oversee, guide perhaps. Who knows what part this world has to play in the plans of Chaos. Whatever they were we've spoiled them.'

Ceasaron shifted uncomfortably in his armour. The force axe slung under his richly coloured cloak clanked against his leg plates. The artificer armour wasn't causing him any trouble, but the thought of the traitor marine played on his mind. He cast his mind back to the encounter.

He was pressing on the enemy command post. Bolter fire had been erupting all around him since their attack commenced. He breathed hard as he led the charge, legs pumping as he raced forward. He reached a formidable looking bunker made from thick rockcrete. He surged forwards though close range las fire that scorched his blessed power armour and used his axe to turn the door to metal splinters. He put in a burst of bolter fire and made to storm the entrance. As he moved in, a rocking explosion blasted him backwards and from the doorway came the hulking rage-fuelled armoured form of the traitor marine. The traitor thrust straight with bone lightning claws. Ceasaron parried quickly with his axe, the shock of the attack not overcoming decades of instinctive training. Blue energy coruscated from the glowing blade onto the rotten bone. The blow was enough to make him fall back and the oncoming marine pressed home the surprise. An armoured boot came crashing up into his chest and felled him. As he tumbled he opened up with his bolter. The explosive rounds cracked into the horned crest of the Chaos warrior, but did no damage as the giant man moved with unnatural swiftness. Ceasaron smacked into the floor, cracking the rock beneath him. He lost his aim and brought his axe across to cover himself. The marine loped forward, his helmet a mask of pure hatred and raw killing desire.

Suddenly bolter fire slammed into him. The rounds straightened him up, but only dented the millennia old power armour. The traitor looked up and roared with unholy aggression. Two marines from Ceasaron's squad advanced on him, still firing. With his armour glowing with power, the marine became a blur as he moved from the stream of rounds. The first marine fell to the traitors bolter which barked death. Its rounds had no trouble penetrating the standard armour and the marine fell, his chest a ragged mess of holes. The second marine went down still firing as the bone claws swept down through him in a wide arc that left gutted him from shoulder plate to groin. The quick killings done, he turned back to Ceasaron, who was raised to his feet. Ceasaron swung first this time. A low sweeping arc towards the Chaos marine's knees. The traitor blocked it and moved in using his speed to shoulder barge him. The blow was hard, but Ceasaron held firm and the two Astartes locked together, staring eye piece to eye piece.

'You're fight is futile, Sword. You shall know no mercy.' The traitor spoke, his voice dripping with malice.

Ceasaron brought his elbow round and smashed it into the side of his foe's helmet, snapping it sideways. With a blinding movement the traitor responded by kicking Ceasaron's legs from under him and he hit the floor again. He could here the traitor's voice laughing. A deep cacophony that stung the air that carried it. He rolled to avoid the bone claws come stabbing down, cleaving four slashes into the rock. Barely before he could begin get up the dark marine thrust the brown claws once more. This time Ceasaron parried the strike. The force weapon hummed as it slipped through the claws. He kept the swing going with all his strength and the weapon bit into the rocky ground and stuck fast. Ceasaron let go the mighty weapon and looked up at the marine standing over him. The traitor pulled on his arm but the force weapon was crafted an eon ago and held strong. Panic over came the centuries old servant of chaos. The laughter stopped and his eyes flicked back to Ceasaron. Then to the bolter barrel pointed directly at him.

'And you shall know fear!' Ceasaron uttered though clenched teeth.

The bolter bucked in his hand and the shell punched into the neck join of the chaos armour and drove up through the marine's deformed head where it exploded and shattered the morbidly decorated helmet from the inside in a spray of pink steam. The rest of the body stood and swayed for a second and emanated a rasping sigh before crumpling backwards. Ceasaron brought himself to his feet and retrieved his weapon. Without a pause he gathered the rest of his squad and had charged the command bunker.

xxx

The ride back to the drop point took just under an hour in the command rhino. In its dingy rear Ceasaron and Ledua held themselves in their seats as the armoured personnel carrier banged its way back across the bloodied terrain. The grumbling of it's engine drowned out any normal conversation, so they sat in contemplative silence. Its tracks rolled to a clanking halt and Ledua punched the rear hatch release. The heavy metal door swung open on thick pistons and the two captains and their four support marines jumped out into a hive of activity.

Imperial guard swarmed everywhere. Thousands of reinforcement and replacement troops were marching forward in good order in opposition to the dregs of the regiments that were falling back from the battle. Medic stations the size of small towns had been constructed and evac craft speed back and forth. The gleaming blue of the Valorous Swords shone like seams of precious metal in a worn rock face as they stood in perfect defensive position of their own drop site and command HQ.

The dark clouds had all but cleared now and beautiful sunshine beamed down unfairly on the scene before him. This was the side of the constant war that space marines like him rarely saw, not for any length at least. More often than not they would already be boarding their Thunderhawks and returning to their battle barge to attend to their battle gear or making solemn prayers for lost brothers. Ceasaron took a moment to take the vista in. The human cost. The shear numbers of dead and injured in the service of the Imperium. Not that many would dwell over it. No one understands the sacrifice more than the Chapters that span the galaxy. Theirs is a life of conflict and all marines expect, most even hope to die in combat. But Ceasaron allowed him self a pause. He had fought countless times with honour and valour in the name of the Emperor as was the Swords' creed and to him there seemed a senselessness to the slaughter of these soldiers. It was necessary and right, that he would not argue, but to a Sword there was no valour in these men and women being led to their inevitable extermination.

'I will always be surprised by this, brother,' Ceasaron said quietly to Ledua who stood at his side.

'You think to much of how the guard or even other Chapters operate, my friend. Just because we will never leave a fellow marine to his death or deem their life expendable, the same cannot be said for the rest of the Imperium. The survival of the Imperium and the word of the Emperor is all. There is no cost too high. What of an Externinatus. What must it take to take such a decision? In comparison this is nothing.'

'You are right. And many would say the same as you have. But does it make it right? I mean truly right?' he left the rhetorical question hanging. Ceasaron knew that what must be done, must be done. He was no fool, but something was gnawing at his conscience nonetheless. He knew Ledua could understand it too, even if his feeling were not as strong as his.

'Forgive me.' Ceasaron continued, 'Perhaps when we have expunged the enemy from this system I will look upon this differently. '

'I'll drink to that old friend. Now lets get off this forsaken rock. Command instructions from Chief Librarian Scorine coming in.'

Ceasaron's own command runes flashed in his eye piece. He blink activated one and logged onto the HQ vox network. He listened impassively and when the instruction finish he turned and stared hard at his comrade who returned it with equal concern.

'Let's go.' He said.

The two captains and their retinue broke into a run back towards the drop zone.


	4. Paths Bound

Logrun sat in a heap. His clothes and face were utterly covered in filth and gore. His hair matted thick with dust. Beneath it his eyes were shallow and raw with fatigue. He had passed in and out of consciousness, but he had no idea of how many times. He wasn't even sure what day it was. Had it been two? Maybe more? Everything seemed so distant. Troops had been filling the lines for hour. Some had come past him or thought about taking his position only to see him at the last minute, stare in disbelief and move on. A medic had looked him over and left some water with him before being called away.

In his lap lay the heavy stubber he had cradled for the last thirty six hours. The memory seemed ancient already. The marines he almost literally ran into; the eagle faced warrior that towered over him; leading a chapter of marines to the worst of the fighting. The pride of that moment lifted him again. It was the driving force that had kept him going. In reality it had taken only minutes for him to show them to his broken lines and they immediately left him behind without a word as they charged towards the battle. The sight had been awe-inspiring. He'd sunk to his knees and watched the marines extol the Emperor's wrath. Only one thing seemed right to do, so he had climbed over broken corpses and blackened debris to resume his position and rejoin the fight.

He took a long sip from the water canteen and poured the rest over his face. The cool water washed some of the grime away and he wiped it as best he could with the inside of his tunic. Barely refreshed, he set his faithful weapon on the deck and slowly walked over to kneel beside Parnov's body. He ran his palm over Parnov's face and closed the trooper's lifeless eyes, while silently muttering a prayer to the Emperor. He stood and looked at Brazowski's corpse, flat on its back with the scorched hole in its chest pointing heavenwards. Half of it was crushed beneath the remnants of the bunker roof that had fallen in. Logrun spat dusty phlegm onto the bloodied floor in its general direction and climbed the step out of the emplacement. He would afford his murdering ex-sergeant no such prayers.

With no need to hide in cover, Logrun pulled himself over the support trench he had fled down the previous day. The sun was fully out now and he held his hand to his brow to shield it from his sore eyes. He scanned his surroundings for any signs of his unit. Scattered bodies with the Damasian colours where being loaded onto stretchers of orderly servitors. He spotted a medic tending to a human shaped pile of rags that looked distinctly like his Eagle Company cohort Private Toma Drams. He stretched his legs into a eager stride and made his way over to the pair of men.

'Toma, be damned, are you ok?' Logrun inquired hurriedly.

The bedraggled trooper looked up and beamed at the sight of a familiar face.

'Corp! I've been better. Think they'll class me a servitor with all the shrapnel stuck in me…argh!'

Almost to emphasise the point the medic yanked out a filament of shell from Drams leg.

'Watch it will you…'

The medic nodded a half apology and tied off another field dressing. Finally he produced a hypo-needle from his narthecium and jabbed Dram's arm.

'That'll keep you from moaning like a rookie for now. Line units are to regroup a click back that way,' the medic waved a disinterested and back towards the shattered city, 'I'd get moving before I put you on stretcher duty.'

As the medic wandered off, Logrun held out his arm and stiffly hauled Drams to his feet. The private winced despite the painkiller kicking in.

'Stretcher duty? We should be on one. Look at the state of us…' again moaned Drams.

'Yeah, well. Lets get moving. Hopefully we aren't the only ones able to walk.' replied Logrun.

Arm in arm the two guardsmen struggled their way back across the ravaged turf of the battlefield. A hand full of other Rifles joined them on the way. A heavy set Lieutenant and a flamer crew from Indigo company, two still terrified looking guardsman from Dias who barely looked old enough to be enlisted and a very lost looking mortar crewman from Cypher company.

Finally they came to a staging post and Logrun set Drams onto the floor. Drams uttered a variety of profanity in the process. The Lieutenant started to move about the group and looked for someone to order to go and fetch a vox caster. After receiving a muted response he turned to heckle the other groups of passing soldiers. Logrun snorted at the officer's impotence and turned his attention to a group of gleaming Space Marines in the near-distance. Their armour radiated in the sunlight.

'Thank the Emperor they turned up.' Drams understated.

'No argument on that one.' Logrun flicked his eyes to the floor in shame. How he would love to tell someone of his encounter, but that would betray his cowardice.

'Something ain't right with them though.'

Drams appeared to be right. The marines looked tense and although Logrun could not hear them, it was clear that they were in a heated discussion. As he watched two more joined the group. They both bore the flowing maroon cloaks of the warriors he had encountered and he recognized the taller one although now his aquilla adorned helmet was removed. They too stood straight and serious, before the group broke away and the marine named Ceasaron stormed in his direction.

Moments after the group disbanded the assembled squads of the Valorous Swords broke out in tactical order. Two enormous dreadnoughts swiveled on their leg mountings and began to stomp toward the ramshackle staging post. Beyond them a grumbling Land Raider jerked into life and is dual las-cannons pointed accusingly in the same direction.

'What the hell's going on Corp?' one of the young troopers asked.

'It ain't good whatever it is.', interjected Drams, 'Is he coming this way?'

Ceasaron had picked him out from several hundred paces away, his enhanced eyesight recognizing him easily. A hard look set upon his face and he strode with powerful purpose towards Logrun and the group surrounding him.

'Corporal Logrun!', he spoke loudly as he reached them, 'I need some answers and your officers are dead. Have you returned from the line with these men?'

The other soldiers surrounding Logrun gawped at him as the Space Marine addressed him personally. Drams' eyebrows threatened to leave his head with the surprise. Logrun glanced at them all sheepishly, but felt a nervous pride at being singled out.

'Yes sir. We did what we could to re-take our positions. There's not many of us left, but we owe you our lives.'

'Your actions have regained you your honour. Know this. Now tell me about the voices that caused the men to turn on each other. And be quick!' Ceasaron demanded.

'They came from nowhere, straight into my head. Horrid things, like a nightmare. I pushed them out somehow, but Sargent Brazowski murdered Parnov, before he attacked me, so I had to shoot him…' Logrun trailed off as he realised what he was saying.

'Was this so for you all?' Ceasaron asked the gathering

Murmurs of agreement came from the handful of guardsman, while some shrugged and said they hadn't heard anything at all.

'Do not fear your actions if they were necessary. You did what must be done.'

'Yes sir.' Replied Logrun with a flood of relief.

'And since then nothing?

'No sir. Not that I know of. What was it?'

'Chaos temptation controlling the weak and corrupting their hearts. Like this Sergeant of yours. However they have cursed you all. It is believed that your regiment in its entirety are lost, survivors regardless.'

'I don't understand', nervousness crept into Logrun's voice.

'Is there a problem Brother-Captain Ceasaron?', a new voice cut in from behind.

Ceasaron spun on his heels and to face the speaker. His sapphire gauntlet clad hand tightened around the grip of his bolter.

Standing atop a rise of rubble and looking down upon the meeting was a figure in morbid black power armour highlighted with crimson red and bone skull motifs, culminating in a grimacing helm fashioned into a skull itself. The eyes burnt a violent red. The sun shone from behind the Chaplain and reflected off the massive Crozius Arcanum that weighed in his hand. It sizzled with energy and a scent of ozone hung in the air.

'Master Chaplain Romius, I did not hear you approach. These men are untainted. Chief Librarian Scorine declared this man clean himself. I do not believe our mandate is necessary. None of them have felt any further influence. Perhaps if we could present them before Scorine in place of their commanders…' Ceasaron hesitated and looked at Logrun, '…their lives would not be forfeit.' he grimly continued.

A cold dread filled Logrun as Ceasaron's final words sunk in. He involuntary took a step back. The reason behind the marines' aggressive deployment became clear.

'This is not necessary Romius! We must talk to Scorine. Surely you of all must know this is not our way!'

The Chaplain crunched down towards the fair haired captain. The group of guardsmen stood immobile in shock and confusion still.

'Our action is to carry out the will of the Emperor, Brother Captain. We shall not shy from this course, no matter how distasteful you may think it. Honour and valour are in the Emperor's ways. Besides, Scorine has his orders and we have ours.' Romius dictated with a tone of finality.

The two Marines stood statue-like, tensed with coiled aggression. Logrun took a slow step back, hoping to distance himself. The Marines were intimidating enough themselves, but this Chaplain emanated terror.

'What is the meaning of this? I am in command here!' the puffing Lieutenant barged his way passed Logrun, adamant to being the one to deal with the Marines. Ignorant of the situation he confronted the two warriors.

As the Lieutenant opened his mouth to press home his own importance Romius swung his Crozius Arcanum in a searingly fast arc that smashed into the Lieutenant's head and torso, turning it into a mash of bloodied meat. The rest of the body slammed into the floor like a sodden rag doll.

On cue the retort of bolter fire opened up as the Marines carried out their orders. Guard scattered and the wounded tried to claw their way away in disbelief. The Marines marched upon the staging post with grim efficiency but there was no fervour in their killings. Ceasaron could tell that each pull of a bolter trigger was forced and that his battle brothers doubted their actions. Something a Space Marine is not accustomed too. Indeed many glanced at each other and the ancient brothers encased in the mighty dreadnought armour remained silent.

Romius turned on the white-faced guardsman in Logrun's assembly and began to raise his own bolter. He would have no second thoughts of purging the unclean. Ceasaron's arm hammered down onto the Chaplain's. The bolter rounds ripped the earth apart at Dram's feet. Ceasaron locked arms with Romius and looked to Logrun with a fierce expression.

'Run!' he shouted.

For the slightest of seconds the sapphire and doomsday-black titans stood locked together. With a roar Romius wrenched his arm from Ceasaron's grip and brought round his Arcanum before him, the golden skull pointed accusingly.

'What is the meaning of this Captain?' the Chaplain bellowed.

'These men do not deserve to die. I will not be party to it.' Ceasaron steadily replied.

'Then you will lower your weapon and surrender for the Chapter's Judgement for your disobedience!'

'That, I cannot do.'

'Traitor then...'

Ceasaron parried the Chaplain's first blow. Pain echoed down his arm as the force axe took the strike. He swayed back as another cleaving swing narrowly skimmed across his breastplate. Using his own bolter as a club he swatted aside the Chaplain's bolter, but did not take the opportunity to look for a shot himself. His mind was racing. Skilled as he was, the Chaplain was one of the Chapter's fiercest warriors and he could not hope to fend him off forever. Retreating at pace Ceasaron blocked two more heavy falling hits.

Logrun, Arams and the other guardsman were running. Their battle weary legs fuelled by the last dregs of adrenaline, pumped hard over the rough ground. One of the young troopers stumbled on a loose piece of rock-crete and pitched face first into the ground. Logrun stopped and hauled the youngster to his feet. Blood poured down the private's face. With a hand under the private's arm, the two staggered onwards.

'Get back in the trenches!' screamed Logrun.

All the men tumbled, slid or hurled themselves into the first reserve trench they came to. Some landed on hard on crates or weapons, while other thumped onto dead comrades not yet recovered. Last to drop in were Logrun and the bloodied private.

Roughly two platoons worth of men filled the trench. Between them they had a hand full of weapons. Manily las-guns and a couple of autoguns, along with the one flamer from the Indigo company men. Some looked around to gather something to defend themselves with, while most just stood breathing hard. Stuck in the confined space they looked to Logrun for what to do next.

'Keep moving damn it!' he cried, 'And keep your head down!'

Still holding the kid soldier he looked back quickly to see the two duelling marines. He pushed off and joined the chain of scrambling troopers. Ruefully he realised that he was running again for the second time in this battle.

Ceasaron's arm finally buckled under the strength of Romius' attacks. He grunted in pain as his axe was torn from his hand and spun away. He turned just in time to take another blow to the armour on his shoulder. The finely crafted war gear caved inward, but held solid. Ceasaron was forced down on to one knee. With a pounding pain, he realised his arm had been battered from its socket. His armour instantly administered pain suppressants, but it was of no consequence. He knew he was finished. He looked up, ready to take the killing blow like a marine.

Romius' skulled helm glared down at him. The eyes were incandescent with fury. The giant Chaplain raised his bolter once more. Suddenly the air chilled. Whisps of vapour blew from Ceasaron's nostrils and tiny ice crystals formed in the muddy ground around his fingertips. The cold also seeped into his mind. He felt his arms become numb and leaden. His thinking became burdened as the frost descended further.

'Go.' It was Romius that spoke, bolter barrel still levelled at him, but standing totally motionless.

Ceasaron fought to regain his thoughts as the aching cold seemed to render his body useless.

'Go, Ceasaron. Find the truth of today. Honour be with you.' Again it was the chaplain's voice, but it was monotone and calm.

He went to move when the Chaplain jerked forwards violently. Ceasaron winced instinctively, expecting a bolter shell to tear his head from his shoulders. Instead the black form of Romius toppled forwards and crashed to the ground, leaving behind him the mud spattered figure of his longest friend Captain Ledua. In his hands were the crumpled remains of his bolter. Bent into uselessness by the knock-out blow he'd dropped Romius with. The cold vanished and Ceasaron felt his senses return.

'By Terra, tell me you know what's going on here!' exclaimed Ledua.

'I swear I do not know. But thank you old friend.' he replied.

Ceasaon hauled himself upright again. He grasped his dislocated left arm with his good hand and pulled it across his chest. With a sickly crunch the joint slid back in and he flexed it in satisfaction. He stooped down and retrieved his force axe.

'Something deeply disturbing is at hand. I did not think I would see the day the Valorous Swords turned executioner. I must go. The Chaplain's message, or whomever it came from, could be a chance to find out. I do not ask you to come with me.'

'You don't need to.'

'No, you can not. The brother's will need your leadership. Two Captains can not be lost. If I know this Chapter I know that the actions of today will weigh most heavily on them. I will see you soon.'

'What do you intend to do?' Ledua asked.

'First I must see to the safety of Corporal Logrun and the other guardsmen with him. They are under my protection now. More importantly they my have an insight as to what is unfolding. Perhaps unwittingly, but they've been on this planet months longer than we have.

'After that I will see about the man who orders our Marines to massacre. Why Scorine permitted it I do not know, but someone will answer for this.'

They clasped fore arms in the traditional way of a Marine salute and Ceasaron turn away. His cloak flapped in the wind as he jogged away.

'Honour be with you' Ledua whispered to himself.


End file.
